


Flower Press

by littlealex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-06
Updated: 2008-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 07:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlealex/pseuds/littlealex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was many things, but Dean had never pinned him as a romantic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flower Press

This was ridiculous. Sam was many things - many, varied and more often than not perplexing things - but Dean had never pinned him as a romantic. Sure, he was a floppy-haired emo kid sometimes, and he'd [gone through this weird... semi-goth phase](http://zannes.livejournal.com/17737.html) at one point to piss off dad, but even so, Dean had never really thought that his brother was the sort of person who'd pour his heart out onto paper. Maybe he'd never really thought there was much to Sam The Writer beyond taking notes and scribbling grocery lists on the backs of receipts, but really... Sam wasn't this person.

Still, the fact was that Dean had concrete evidence to the contrary, written in his brother's comically bad handwriting, in the form of a letter. Which, incidentally, he hadn't put down from the moment he'd tugged it from the envelope.

Sam wasn't a very good writer, Dean decided. Dean had gone to school - a few times - and they had always told him to show things with his words, not to tell them. There were meant to be hidden meanings between the lines, similes and metaphors and other sort of words Dean could barely dredge up a decade later. He wasn't a great writer himself, of course, but he knew that there were supposed to be more images in a letter like this: more stupid, flowery words to make things sound better than they really were, and you certainly weren't meant to spell things out. Which is what Sam did exactly.

Sam never had liked to follow other people's rules.

Anyway, the letter... it was disconcerting. It wasn't as though they hadn't danced around it a thousand times before, but here it was written in black and white. The amount of scribbled out text and wordiness of the first half belied Sam's hesitancy in doing so, and it wasn't really surprising. Sam was a Winchester, too, and that meant that communication was all or nothing. There was no dicking around in between, using pansy words to try to pretend. If you were going to avoid something, you'd better not say a damn word, but if you were going to talk about it, you'd better lay down your hand.

Of course, Sam was a wimp for hiding behind a piece of paper, and Dean would never let him forget that, but the fact remained....

The words on the page were damning. Dean was going to Hell - that part was certain - but that didn't mean Sam had to come with him. It was wrong, wasn't it? To love your brother like that? They both should have known that - they _did_ know that - but that didn't seem to stop them. With the months, weeks, days, hours slipping by them, nothing seemed more certain than the inexorable gravitational pull between them, luring them to where they shouldn't go. (But maybe, some part of him reasoned, the only place they belonged.) It wasn't right, but that didn't count for much these days. There was so much wrong with this world, what did it matter if they were just another little kink in humanity?

It didn't. Not really, anyway, and Dean folded up the letter finally and tucked it into his back pocket. He almost had it memorized now, at least the part where Sam had told him where to meet him, so he picked up the car keys and locked the motel door behind him. He glanced at his watch to check the time and couldn't help but notice the date that replaced the 3 on the watch face.

It was February 14th. _Fuck._

He was later than Sam had expected (given the look on his face, which was an amusing cross between nausea and relief), but at least Dean had brought flowers. Dirty roots and all, having been plucked from a garden bed nearby. The smirk on Dean's face was tentative as he handed them to Sam, who was looking less sick now and more like he would start laughing any moment.

"Dude, you're the one who wrote me a love letter on Valentine's Day. You do not get to laugh at me."

Sam didn't. Instead, he took the flowers with at least a modicum of grace, taking a small step towards Dean at first, and then all of a sudden he was everywhere. The flowers pressed against the back of Dean's head as Sam's hands held him there, leaned in for a blinding, scorching kiss that didn't really so much surprise Dean as leave him breathless.

Dean couldn't say, for sure, what really happened to the flowers after that, suffice to say that he was pretty sure he was still finding petals days later.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Valentine's Day for my dear friend stormwynd, who just wanted a bit of schmoopy Sam/Dean on Valentine's Day.


End file.
